


Pampering

by elegantanagram (Lir)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Caretaking, Crossdressing, Domestic, Housewife Day, M/M, POV Third Person, Rituals, Sibling Incest, Stockings, Twin Striders, Wordcount: 100-2.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/pseuds/elegantanagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ritual is a matter of course in the Strider household. Though his brother never explains it, Dave terms this one "housewife day" - the rare, unannounced occasion on which Dirk dons fashionable 50s-style clothing, from the skirts to the stockings all the way down to the stylish shoes, spends the day cleaning and neatening, and concludes the pattern with a rare, coveted home-cooked meal. That is, providing Dave maintains the force of will not to interrupt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pampering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skylark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/gifts).



> This was written for my dear friend [Sonata](http://cyanokit.tumblr.com/) after talking about things each of us enjoy in smutty writing. She specifically gushed over stockings, caretaking/affection, and enthusiastic blowjobs, and I had to take a shot at delivering, on all counts. 
> 
> The fact that this is twin striders, and the specific phenomenon of "housewife day," are the result of things [Ferris](http://ffferris.tumblr.com/) and I sometimes make together. Ferris is also wonderful, and therefore deserves a cute dedication too.

-

Dave calls this phenomenon “housewife day.”

Every so often, with zero warning and even less fanfare, Dirk slips into a flirty, fluttery sundress or high-necked, narrow-waisted 50s getup, and Dave knows private time is underway. He can interrupt Dirk, but he won't enjoy the outcome. Far better to sit back, relax, and let Dirk do his thing. 

Dirk's thing largely consists of mundane household tasks. On every other day of the year, neither Strider subscribes to the concept of chores, each doing his own part to ensure he has wearable clothes and that there's something roughly passing for food in the cupboards or fridge, but going no farther. Dirk in particular is a staunch defender of the necessity for organized chaos. His things – electronic detritus, indecent plush toys, tools both of the variety that belong on a workbench and that belong out of easily-scandalized sight – proliferate throughout their loft. They accrue into formations Dave neither understands nor questions, because Dirk knows without hesitation where every item has ended up. 

On housewife day, Dirk dedicates his time to cleaning. The dishes piling up in the sink get done, the living room is tidied, sometimes the vacuum even emerges from whatever mysterious alternate dimension it usually resides in, solely so Dirk can push it across their one diminutive square of carpet, stepping lightly in high heels as he twirls the cord behind him with the hand not maneuvering the machine.

Dave positions himself on the couch to watch, neat and unmoving. 

Dave knows that if Dirk is allowed to render their living space spotless and sparkling, Dirk's day of frenzied, manic cleaning will end in a home-cooked meal. His brother is highly skilled in the kitchen, wielding a knife with the same precision he wields his katana, and he's hardly afraid of the heat. Dirk doesn't enjoy cooking, though, for all that he has perfected more than the basics. Dinner cooked from scratch is a rare treat that Dave prizes with jealous intensity. 

Sometimes, even this promise of uncommon delicacies isn't enough to persuade Dave to keep his hands to himself. 

Dirk's blouse stretches taut across his chest in a way it wouldn't on a woman, its low neckline highlighting the sharp angles of his collarbones. What Dave watches isn't the way the light fabric clings to Dirk's biceps, nor the way the dark skirt blossoms off the narrow span of Dirk's hips. Dave watches instead for the translucent sheer of stockings stretched over lean, muscled legs, stares at the familiar definition of Dirk's calves with this extra coat of shadow painted on. The material hugs Dirk so closely, it might as well be lacquered to his skin. Dave stares at Dirk's trim, remarkably narrow ankles, at the little knobs of bone protruding above slender ankle straps, follows the seams of Dirk's stockings from his heels all the way up to the backs of Dirk's thighs, where those tempting guidelines disappear past the modest bell of skirts. 

Dirk can have his weird girltime gender-blender thing, can wear whatever he damn well pleases and the worst Dave is going to do is stare, but if Dirk is going to swoop down in front of Dave with an old cloth and a canister of Pledge intending to dust the coffee table, he's expecting a lot from Dave's overtaxed self-control. Dirk is close and warm and smells of tangy citrus, and if he didn't want a hand on his thigh tracing one raised line northwards, he shouldn't have come so well into range. 

Dirk's palm is on the table and the Pledge is in his hand, and all Dave gets for his trouble is the audible spritzing of an aerosol. Dirk himself gives no reaction at all. 

“Come on, bro, stop fondling the wood for a sec, have you ever thought that maybe no one wants to see his face gleaming up at him when he's trying to chow down on some greasy takeout?”

Dirk looks up at Dave, spearing him through the shades, and its a silent contemplation that lasts just long enough for Dave to know – this is his chance to preserve the sanctity of housewife day. He lets the moment stretch longer, lets it shatter as it breaks. 

“I'm doing you a favor,” Dirk says. “Mirrors are passe. The truly enterprising bachelor multi-purposes all of his furniture.” 

He tosses the rag at the end of the table. It lands just shy of the edge, of course, but it's the carelessness from which Dave takes his cue. It's no prim, ladylike gesture, no longer an adherence to persona. Dave has already risen off the couch, his hands skating up the backs of Dirk's thighs and over the curve of his ass. The silky material of Dirk's underskirt brushes the backs of his hands, slicker than the sheer resting under his palms. 

Dirk pops one brow, reaches out to deposit the can he's holding on the corner of the table beside him. 

“But sir,” Dirk protests, in lazy imitation of an innocent southern maid. “I needs must be getting back to polishing, don't you see. There's things in this house, gentle sir, and they just won't be polishing themselves.”

Dave snorts, disguises the sharp breath in through his nose. 

It does nothing to defend the way Dave's fingers clench against Dirk's ass, and though Dirk's expression hardly shifts, the subtlety of Dirk's slowly growing smirk isn't lost on Dave.

“Yeah yeah just leave the polishing to me for a minute here, I think you've done more than enough already.”

“I couldn't,” Dirk says, and it isn't a simper. It's a challenge. 

Dirk is still gazelle-poised and inexplicably dainty, perched on vicious spikes of heels and with his hands only just settling on Dave's shoulders, like idle birds come home to roost. No matter how he poses himself in feminine frailty, Dave isn't deceived. He doesn't forget Dirk's overwhelming capabilities, doesn't dismiss the strength beneath his hands. 

“The lady doth protest too much,” Dave says, falling into the safety of the waiting script. 

“The lady doth protest just enough,” Dirk says. “The gentleman ought to try and be a hair more convincing.”

Dave pulls Dirk to him with the hands on his brother's rear, rolls his hips forward as he presses their fronts flush together, urges Dirk's legs closer, closer, until they curl around him and he staggers underneath the suddenness of Dirk's weight. It's meant as encouragement, his taking the bait, turning with Dirk clutched against him to dump his brother against the couch. Dirk's ankles hook casually behind him, trap him in an ungainly sprawl over Dirk and the furniture.

Dave leans in that last breath between them, imparts his confession directly into Dirk's ear. “I wanna suck your dick, come on, you've been on your feet all morning and I think it's time for a little TLC, let me get to pampering.”

Dirk chuckles, but lets Dave go, so that he goes sliding to the floor in between Dirk's carelessly spreading knees. 

It's not so ladylike, any more, the way Dirk lounges back against the couch with one arm hooked over the cushions behind him. He lifts his skirt with his other hand, letting the fabric bunch as he pulls it up against his stomach. Dave is the one to roll down the stockings, peeling them off Dirk's legs with attentive fingers. His hands smooth up the insides of Dirk's bared thighs, pet at the skin just along their junctures before splaying fingers across Dirk's underwear. Dave's thumbs follow the length of Dirk's cock through fabric just as gauzy as the stockings puddled in loose loops around Dirk's heels. 

Dave leans close, breathes in, sighs so quiet that he's sure anyone besides Dirk wouldn't have heard. He mouths Dirk through his brother's delicate underthings, makes a wide moist spot over the head when he takes the time to suck Dirk through that barrier. There's a hand in his hair – gentle, fleeting contact – and the lack of anything firmer means he's free to play this his way. 

Dave pulls the waistband down, slow, a hair at a time, pulls it out from Dirk's body until his cock slides free, until Dave's waiting mouth can dart in to catch it up with the guiding press of his tongue to lead the way. He presses Dirk's cock to his belly with the flat of his tongue, drags it up along the underside until he can slip his lips down over the head, gentle little bobs and soft-mouthed suction he knows isn't going to get Dirk anywhere. 

Maybe he'll just do that, until the fluttering fingers at the crown of his skull will no longer resist taking hold and shoving him down. 

Dirk deserves to feel that frustrated.

Dirk frustrates Dave, with his sheer stockings and short skirts and all the feminine floof that only thrusts the strength of Dirk's rangy muscles into stronger relief, but what Dave promises Dirk is pampering. Dave's tongue curls against Dirk, firmer as he presses Dirk farther into his mouth. His head bows and his lips drag and he takes Dirk all the way down, pushing himself until his nose is pressed against folded fabric instead of warm bare skin. He swallows tight and eager and that's the move that drives Dirk to make a sound. 

It's a little breathy moan, higher than Dirk's usual, and hearing that is enough to go right to Dave's dick. This is Dirk, of course, and a persona of his won't be so easily forgotten. Dirk makes himself soft in a way he rarely is and Dave cannot help but prize it, cannot resist seizing this opportunity to work Dirk over for no reason better than because Dirk is close and dear and because the exact weight of him against Dave's tongue makes Dave want to cream himself from blowing Dirk all on its own. The little whines he's making around Dirk's cock aren't helping any pretenses of dignity. 

Dave hears it, too, when one of Dirk's heels slides from his foot to drop against the floor. He feels Dirk's leg curling around him, feels the ball of Dirk's heel kneading into his back, a rhythmic pressure that only encourages him. One of his hands is curled around the base of Dirk's cock, imparting short little strokes to meet his lips once he eases back enough to be actively bobbing his head. His other hand is dropped in his lap, lazily palming himself. He can't bring himself to feel ashamed. 

Dirk is the one who always needs restraint, who grasps for his composure even as he's coming apart. He does it less on days he dresses up and that's another thing Dave latches onto with fierce pleasure, until it's Dirk's breath sucking in through his teeth sharp and high, Dirk's voice giving needy, thready whines into Dave's ears. When Dirk comes, it's with a much lower groan, after which the sound cuts back to the ragged edge of Dirk's breathing.

Even when Dirk is done, Dave nuzzles into Dirk's thigh, his palm grinding down against his dick far more aggressively than before. It's a moment before Dirk catches him, but then he leans down and shoves Dave's hand away and curls his own fingers around Dave's cock to all the more expertly finish him off. Dirk slides onto the floor and into Dave's lap as he does it, and doesn't even chastise Dave for getting off all over Dirk's precisely-pressed skirt. 

-

-


End file.
